The last few weeks of blogging have awakened in me the memory of why my phalanges are attached to my metacarpels… their raison d’etre has coalesced into a clear obsidian blade-sharp thought that has been there at the periphery of my senses since I returned from working on an archaeological dig in Egypt in 1986 (but that’s another story). My mid-century modern mind keeps catching side glimpses at the intersection between my conscious and unconscious thought of something I know I have to do in order to become who I am suppose to be.
In a nutshell, my fingers have a completely fictional story to weave. They have lived very interesting lives and have tall and “intriguing” tales to tell. Unfortunately they are also experts at making rather sound excuses as to why holding a glass of champagne after a long day is preferable to clacking on a keyboard until the wee hours of the morning. Enough with the excuses. The next linguistic voyage my fingers are about to take is not about lingerie, nor chocolate, nor capsule wardrobes nor even fine food and travel. My next CE&C experimental journey is taking a bit of a side-road away from girly-girl land to explore pent-up creativity.
My fingers are storytellers that yearn to tell a sublime tale of a surreal yet very real sub-culture that I know intimately and want to share with the blogsphere, albeit in the guise of a completely fictional parable. I will finally give my fingers the right to tell their story, which they have entitled…. Dung Beetle Stalking Prey.
Although I have been arguing with them that it should be called: Against the Assault of Laughter,
my fingers have won.
As writing a blog-novel (blogvel?) will be a massive undertaking that will take much time, as my digits are chatty catties who suffer from verbal diarrhea and I have no idea what they will say, I hope you will have patience with me as I create an absurd world in words.
I dedicate Experiment 7 to the love of my life (LOML) and the young men in my life who make me whole.
All persons and events in this novel are figments of my imagination. Any historical persons in this novel have been fictionalized.
I invite you to comment, criticize and advise as I go on this literary journey. [Continue reading: Prologue]